


Knife's Edge

by Marvelicious (Jayjaybe)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Violent Sex, Winter Soldier!Bucky, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/pseuds/Marvelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He likes it violent. Already he’s wondering what he can do to make Steve fight back, the memory of Steve’s arm wrapped around his neck not far from his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knife's Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this Avengerkink prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/19023.html?thread=43899983#t43899983, asking for violent dubcon between Steve and the Winter Soldier.

It’s that man again. The man from the bridge, the man from the helicarrier, and now the man that’s been haunting him every time he closes his eyes. The Soldier pinches the bridge of his nose with his metal hand, and seeks the cold of it for relief. There’s something there - some strange undercurrent that follows the blonde man everywhere he goes - and though the Soldier knows the man hunts for _him_ , he’s tempted to give his position away and confront him anyway.

He wants it badly, the feeling so shockingly intense when feelings are still new territory, crawling out of the woodwork like termites after the house has collapsed. _Hail HYDRA_. The Soldier has learned a delicious sense of irony, and it pleases him to have the thought. The man trailing him still - that pleases him much less.

The Soldier abandons his perch, retreating back from the edge of the rooftop to disappear into the shadows. The man has never seen him, but the Soldier cannot help but be aware of him, where he is at every turn, and this is the fourth city he’s been followed to. If the man wants to see him so badly, the Soldier will arrange it - but on his terms.

The other man is much easier to follow than the Soldier would have expected. He is not even trying to hide his presence. He talks to too many people, reveals personal details. The Soldier is cautious to approach them even long after the man leaves - he is still well aware that he is the prey here, his whereabouts a valuable piece of information to be traded between his targets - but he waits and eavesdrops, and occasionally he is rewarded with a piece of intel dropped casually into one of their many meaningless conversations.

“He was cute!” A barista prompts another; the one who spoke to the man, “Did you get his number?”

“No. God, I wish! He was just asking if I’d seen his friend around anywhere,” Friend. The Soldier turns it over in his mind for a moment before deciding he’d use that term to ask civilians about a target without alarming them as well. Not of any use then. (He doesn’t think about how the man called him a friend with no one else there to benefit from it. Best not to examine that too closely.)

“Steve,” Yet another foolish girl lets slip not even an hour later, in the parking lot of a mall so crowded the Soldier’s skin is prickling just being near it. But the risk paid off - and now he has a name. Steve.

He follows the man - Steve - for the remainder of the day. Always at a distance, but always just a step behind. He is a much better tracker than Steve, though the Winter Soldier knows not to underestimate his target. The man has succeeded in finding the cities he’s chosen, and while the Soldier does not know how many missteps Steve might have made along the way - what false leads he’s followed, where he has been in the interims - four cities, out of all the places in the world he could be, is too significant to be entirely coincidence.

That night, he dreams of Steve. The Soldier chalks that up to his surveillance, the careful, close attention he paid the man leading up to that moment, but the surveillance alone can’t explain why his mind provides him with images of Steve’s lips wrapped tight around his cock, or why he wakes up sweaty and frustrated, yearning in confusion for something he does not think he has ever known. Desire, if this is it, is a strange, frightening thing.

He stays away from the man the next day, sticking to the shadows entirely and planning his getaway. The Soldier doesn’t know when this became so dangerous, when he began feeling some strange pull _towards_ his last mission - the mission that had ruined him, and all of HYDRA - but he’s dancing along a knife’s edge and he knows it. _Remove yourself from the scene of the crime_ , all of his training tells him. The Soldier plans to. Steve will have to give up eventually, and he is very good at being invisible.

 

But he dreams again, and it's even more vivid than the last time. The Soldier never used to dream, but now there are crystalline images of Steve forming and shattering behind his eyes at an electric pace, so sharp he has a hard time comprehending it. It's all too good to be true - he knows he is dreaming - but when Steve touches him like the Soldier has seen lovers do, the Soldier decides he doesn't want to wake quite yet.

The Soldier has seen others have sex. He thinks he was ordered to, once, on a mission, but does not remember. In any case, it has never been of interest to him.

Until now.

The man in his dreams touches the Soldier like no one has before, and the Soldier wakes too soon - hot, restless. His hand finds his cock almost automatically, before the Soldier even knows what he's doing, but the moment he makes contact he can't stop. It feels - good. So good. The Soldier has never experienced anything like this, could have never even imagined - would it feel like this, he wonders, with someone else? Pleasure courses through his body, all centered around the movement of his hand.

The Soldier rubs the head of his cock, breath caught in his throat and abdomen tight. He is close to release already - does not know how he knows, but perhaps it is instinctual. His thoughts drift back to the man - to Steve - and then he’s coming, his release soaking his undershorts before he can form a coherent thought past the memory of Steve’s hands on him as they fought.

He should run. He should, but he doesn't want to. The Soldier doesn’t know what it is about the man; he has never missed a target, never failed a mission - until him. He’s never felt, well, never felt at all until Steve either. But it’s not answers that the Soldier wants, or that drive him towards the man. This dangerous obsession needs to stop, and the Soldier only knows how to face things head-on.

Steve is staying in a hotel only a few short blocks away: third floor, second window from the left facing Elm Street. The Soldier watched him check in. He straightens himself up, tucks his knives into his belt, and prepares to face the man.

 

He’s not expecting company. The Soldier makes his way in through the window, landing silently on the floor beside the bed. Steve is asleep, utterly unguarded, his famous shield all the way across the room, leaning against the wall. The Soldier does not smile, but feels the corners of his mouth grow tight unexpectedly as he straightens up, never taking his eyes off of Steve.

At his next step, the sound of his boots nearly imperceptible against the plush carpeting, Steve’s eyes flick open. The Soldier reacts fast - vaults onto the bed and straddles him before he can move, a knife at his throat, metal kiss promising blood if he tries anything. The man’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t try to get away. “Bucky,” He whispers.

The Soldier presses the blade against his skin a bit harder. “Don’t call me that.” The name makes his head ache, perfect programming spiraling into glitches and bugs all over. Something in the pit of his stomach kinks up in a way he can’t interpret, but thinks it might be fear. This man ruined him. Will only ruin him further if he stays. The Soldier leans over him more closely. “What is it with you?” He snarls. _Why can’t I get you out of my head, the feeling of your hands off my skin?_

“I’m your friend.” Steve is doing his best to pretend that he is not a threat, voice quiet and body still. The man doesn’t dare touch the Soldier now, and that only irritates him further.

“I don’t have friends.” Touch me. _I want to remember how that felt._ The thought takes him aback, and the Soldier knows Steve won’t have missed the slight quiver of his hand. He does not _want_. It’s not in his programming. He yanks Steve’s covers back as far as he can with his free hand, until they’re bunched up around his thighs and Steve’s bare chest seems to glow in the dim light from the window.

The man doesn’t fight it, but he swallows hard, bringing his adams apple right up against the blade in the Soldier’s hand for the slightest moment. “What do you want, Buck? I’ll give you whatever you need - you,” The Soldier cuts him off before he can utter any more of his damning declarations, shoving his mouth over Steve’s in a rough crush of lips.

Steve is utterly pliant. The Soldier wishes he would fight back so this would make sense, but Steve’s lips are soft and gentle against his, yielding to every motion. He bites down on the man’s lower lip, tears at it with his teeth until he can taste blood. Dimly, he can hear Steve gasp out, feels his fists clench beside his thighs, but he doesn’t even try to pull away.

It’s the Soldier who pulls back finally, his heart pounding frantically. His whole body is hot like he’s overheating, breathing coming too fast. It was his offensive, but his shields are the only ones crumbling. Steve is looking him over, wearing an expression the Soldier can’t decipher. “Don’t.” He warns, before the man can say anything more, recognizing the slight part of his now-swollen lips. He should go - he needs to get out of here. The Soldier runs through it in his head - exactly how his body needs to move to bring him to the floor and back out the window in one fluid motion, the ledges he can use to make his way back down the side of the building - but he’s frozen in place.

A hand closes around his wrist in the Soldier’s split second of distraction, and he startles. Steve’s thumb sweeps over his pulse. “It’s okay.” He says, and that has to be a lie. Nothing is okay. The Soldier’s world is crashing down around his ears and it’s all this man’s fault. He yanks his hand back like he’s been burned, and tosses the knife aside to go for Steve’s throat.

The man barely gets away. The Soldier hesitates for a split second before his metal fingers can crush through his windpipe, and it’s all the opening Steve needed. He tears through the pillow instead, Steve’s hand hot around the metal of his wrist. His head is held at an awkward angle to avoid the carnage and there’s no mistaking the shock written across his features. “Bucky,”

“I told you not to call me that!” He snaps, and punches Steve in the gut to loosen his grip on the Soldier’s other arm. With the shrinking violet act earlier, he almost doesn’t expect Steve to return it. The right hook to his jaw sets him straight. Steve moves as if to throw him off, but the Soldier knows how to react to that. He catches Steve’s fist in his metal palm and squeezes until he can hear Steve’s knuckles pop. From the strained look on his face, the Soldier is hurting him.

Steve purses his lips, tries to twist his wrist away. The Soldier slams his hand back against the bed, mechanical components whirring and clicking into place. Steve doesn’t have a hope of getting away from him now. He must know it too - he’s breathing more heavily, and his tongue flicks out over his lips before he’s biting them. There is fear in his eyes. The Soldier likes that.

He’s hard from their brief struggle, and he grinds his hips down against Steve’s, all friction and pressure. It’s even better than his hand, especially when Steve sucks in a breath and pushes back up against him. But the Soldier wants more. “I’m going to fuck you.” Steve’s eyes grow wider at his words, but he doesn’t try to get away again. The Soldier almost wishes he would. He likes it violent. Already he’s wondering what he can do to make Steve fight back, the memory of Steve’s arm wrapped around his neck not far from his mind.

His mechanical hand continues to constrict, and this time, there’s a crunch of bone. Steve gasps and then he’s struggling again, hips bucking up against the Soldier’s, trying to throw him off. The Soldier holds on, keeps him pinned. He grips Steve’s waist with his thighs and refuses to be budged, shoving Steve back against the bed in between each frantic motion. He knows that it’s risky to let go of Steve’s hands, but he does anyway - the Soldier releases Steve’s broken hand from his grasp to grab his jaw - he wants to ravage the man’s mouth again, to lick the blood off his lower lip and taste Steve’s pain for himself.

It’s addictive. The Soldier barely notices Steve grab him by the hair, the pain of it only fueling his harsh lust. Besides, Steve can’t get a better grip. It’s hurting him even to try, and the Soldier can hear it in the jagged breaths Steve sucks around his own mouth. He doesn’t know if Steve is trying to pull him off, or drag him even closer. 

“Buck- Bucky please,” He gasps, and the Soldier shuts him up with his tongue, shoving it between Steve’s lips before the man can close his mouth against him again. Steve bites down, and pain sears up the Soldier’s tongue. He digs his fingertips into Steve’s cheeks until the man’s mouth is forced to open. He’s tasting more blood then - his own this time, and doesn’t bother to correct Steve again.

“Give it to me,” The Soldier demands, using his leverage to bite Steve’s throat instead. 

“I will,” He squirms beneath the Soldier, and it brings their cocks together - Steve is hard too; he wants it - the Soldier doesn’t know why that matters to him, but it does. He wants Steve to be just as ruined from this as he is, just as caught up, as distracted from his mission.

The _wants_ are only becoming more clear as the Soldier thrusts against him, and it terrifies him as much as it’s elating. He takes it out on Steve the only way he knows how, shoving his hand in between them and grabbing the man’s cock through the sheets. But Steve catches him by surprise too, craning his neck to lick his own blood back from around the Soldier’s mouth as soon as his jaw is released. He’s muttering something that sounds like the name the Soldier hates, a litany of “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” in time with the desperate twist of his hips. It would appear the only way to shut him up is to kiss him, and the Soldier pretends to himself that’s the only reason it brings him so much pleasure to slot his lips over the man’s once more.

Steve is still short of breath, gasping into the rough kiss, but he’s craning his neck up into it, following the Soldier’s every move. The Soldier tugs on his cock; he knows there is no finesse in his motions, but Steve’s hips continue to buck up into his hand, so clearly he’s got something right. He wants more, and says as much.

“Yeah,” Steve groans, but moves to get out from under him. The Soldier rips his mouth away and pins Steve back against the bed, metal hand tightening in warning. Steve winces. “Not trying to get away,” He tries to assure the Soldier, “Promise.” The Soldier isn’t sure he believes the man, but he loosens his grip the slightest bit. He glances back at the shield, trying to make sure it’s far enough out of reach if Steve is lying to him.

And again, Steve takes advantage of his distraction. He kicks up, and the Soldier is too late to react to keep from over balancing. He ends up on his back, Steve reversing their positions, a forearm pressed against his throat hard enough to have the Soldier fighting to swallow against it. He doesn’t like this, goes to hit Steve again - and the arm over his neck presses down harder. He chokes and stills.

The Soldier knew better. He should never have come here, but he’s not going to give up without a fight - Steve looks him over for what feels like a long moment while the Soldier tries to wrench his head away. “Trust me,” He says, and the Soldier snarls at him in response, not enough air left in his lungs to tell Steve that it will never happen.

When Steve’s hand comes down though, it’s to rub against the Soldier’s cock. He cannot help the breathy exhale of shock in response, and then the Soldier is well and truly out of air. His lungs burn and he tries to gasp around the pressure of Steve’s arm even as he grinds his hips up into Steve’s palm, because oh, that’s good. The confused sensations, the fear, only makes it better.

He grips Steve’s thigh with his mechanical hand and squeezes hard - can’t tell him to let go, but there are spots in front of his vision and heat pooling in his gut and the Soldier doesn’t know whether he’s going to pass out or cum first. Steve flinches just as things start to go dark around the sides of his vision, just enough for the Soldier to steal a quick breath of air and he sucks it back greedily. “Bucky,” Steve calls him, and he tries his best to fight back, digging his fingers into the meat of Steve’s thigh and bending his knees as quickly as he can, aiming for Steve’s spine.

The lack of air has made him inefficient though, and the Soldier is tangled up in the sheets almost as badly as Steve was. Steve squeezes his cock a bit harder - it might have been meant as warning of his own, but that feels good too. Enough that he almost considers laying still and letting Steve bring him to climax like this, but the Soldier needs to bring this back under control _now_.

He thrashes wildly, urging the metal closed further until his fingertips are digging in between the muscles of Steve’s leg. The Soldier hears him cry out. There’s a momentary lapse in Steve’s grip, and he takes the opening, throws Steve off and slams him back against the bed in his place. “I’m in control here,” He growls, voice made even more harsh by Steve’s abuse of his throat. It still hurts - he’d rub away the sting if he thought he could spare a hand for it.

The Soldier doesn’t wait for Steve to respond. He grabs the waistband of the man’s pants and yanks hard on them until they tear down the side of one leg. He wants this now, before Steve can try to fight him off again, before things can get any more complicated. He continues to tug at Steve’s pants, trying to get them out of his way. Steve tries to raise a hand, and the Soldier swats it away roughly before he can get in the way. “Wait, Bucky, here-”

Steve lays his hand over the Soldier’s before he can chastise the man for using that name again. His fingers fill in the gaps between the Soldier’s, and then he’s gripping the waistband of his own shorts, pulling them down and bringing the Soldier’s hand with them. His skin is so soft beneath the Soldier’s calloused fingers - he doesn’t think Steve should feel so fragile from everything he was briefed on, but it feels unthinkably right somehow.

An odd feeling hits him - as if he’s somehow done this before - but of course he hasn’t, he knows he hasn’t… The Soldier stills. “Don’t,” He tells Steve again, before the man can utter that _deplorable_ name and have him breaking into pieces. Steve swallows hard, but he nods. His fingers tighten around the Soldier’s gently, and the Soldier brushes him off before this can turn tender. He doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it if he did.

Steve reaches for something in the direction of the bedside table, and the Soldier lets him this time, trying to clear his head. He half-hopes Steve is looking for a gun, but it’s a small bottle being pressed into his hands when Steve twists back towards him. The Soldier tosses it aside. He wants Steve to hurt, to make his body as raw as he’s made the Soldier’s brain. Steve bites his lip, but he doesn’t say anything, even when the Soldier yanks his own pants down. He pulls a hand back and spits in his palm, rubbing it over his cock in preparation, and still Steve doesn’t protest.

“Spread your legs,” The Soldier demands, but Steve hesitates. He doesn’t move for a long moment before the Soldier grows fed up with it. He grabs Steve’s thighs and wrenches them apart, gripping Steve beneath his knees and shoving forward until they’re nearly against the bed and the man bent in two beneath him. He has to maneuver a bit to line himself up and keep Steve pinned, but manages it eventually.

“Wait,” Steve pleads, and the Soldier ignores him. He presses forward, shoving his cock into Steve’s too tight ass little by little. It doesn’t go easy, but the feeling of Steve - hot and clenching around him - is better than anything the Soldier has ever experienced before. He keeps thrusting, picking up the pace as Steve’s body grows accustomed to him, and watches the play of tendons working beneath Steve’s skin as he pants and whimpers and clings to the sheets beneath them. “Fuck,” He groans, “Bucky - oh, fuck,” but he’s looking up at the Soldier now and he doesn’t look angry. Quite the opposite.

Steve looks at him in a way the Soldier doesn’t know how to interpret at all, but it has something in his stomach twisting up into knots, and he has done this before - he’s taken Steve, possessed all of him at one point - no, he hasn’t, this is the first time he’s ever - the Soldier doesn’t even know what to think anymore, but there’s something too familiar in this. He pushes harder, his hips snapping against Steve’s, like if he fucks the man hard enough, the racket in his head will quiet. Steve cries out again, eyes screwing shut for a long moment before he’s reaching up and grabbing the Soldier by his hair - he needs to cut it, it’s a liability - pulling him in.

“Don’t stop,” Steve moans against his mouth, as if he somehow knows that the Soldier can barely see straight beyond the confusion. He wasn’t planning to - something is driving him on, seemingly beyond his own control. He fucks into Steve hard and fast until there’s sweat dripping from his skin with every movement he makes, his breath coming in quick pants and stomach tied up in knots.

Steve’s grip doesn’t loosen, tugging on his hair in response to every thrust. The Soldier grits his teeth against the pain and wants to hate the man with every fiber of his being, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how, doesn’t think he ever did. It’s hard to draw breath, and he blames that on Steve, the way the man crushed his windpipe earlier - but that doesn’t really explain the tightness in his throat, and when he finally manages to suck in a breath it sounds like a sob.

“Steve,” He gasps, needing to try the word on his own tongue for some unthinkable reason, and his voice is breaking as badly as the rest of him. The Soldier is hot all over, doesn’t know what to do except to keep going, hands clenched so tightly around Steve’s body and thrusting so hard he can feel his own body bruising where it crashes against Steve’s.

His climax hits him out of nowhere. Steve clenches up tight and then all of a sudden he can’t hold it back any longer, his whole body shuddering as he spills into the man. He closes his eyes tight and tries to hold onto that feeling - tries to commit it to memory as hard as he can, so that maybe it will survive the next time he is wiped clean - but HYDRA is no more, and Steve - “Bucky,” The man calls him again, and something touches his face.

The Soldier jerks back like he’s been burned. When he looks down at Steve, the man is relaxed, stripes of cum dotting his chest - so he’d found his own release, tricked the Soldier into giving him what he wanted somehow… The Soldier shakes his head frantically and pulls away. He has to get out of here, while the wound is fresh, can still be healed - “Bucky, it’s okay,” The man entreats him again, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, eyes wide.

“No,” The Soldier corrects him, “I am the Winter Soldier.” Not Bucky. Not that man, as much as he thinks he might wish he could have been. He yanks his pants back up, scrambles back off the bed and into a hasty retreat - it was never in his programming to retreat, only to kill or be killed, but it’s falling apart all around him and he doesn’t know what else to do - “Your Bucky will never be okay again.”


End file.
